


A Calculated Risk

by NaughtyPastryChef



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bottom Sam, First Time, Gift Fic, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sam Winchester Leaves for Stanford, Song fic, Soulmates, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:06:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22442278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyPastryChef/pseuds/NaughtyPastryChef
Summary: The night before Sam leaves for Stanford. The night after Sam leaves. One month after Sam leaves. Six months after Sam leaves.When the other half of your soul isn't nearby, there are repercussions.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 103





	A Calculated Risk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sammichgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sammichgirl/gifts).



> I heard it was my dear Heather's birthday. THEN i heard this song on my 'romance writing' playlist. This is totally unbeta-ed and probably as riddled with mistakes as it is with angst but, as the title says, i'm taking a calculated risk that someone likes it.
> 
> Watch the video or listen to the song on spotify or whatever streaming device you prefer, it is the soundtrack for this fic.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FH0jE8R5HUw

“I got into Stanford. Full ride. I have classes and a dorm assignment and a small stipend for books.” Sam manages to say the words with no emotion to them, which Dean finds incredible. He spins on the spot, as Sam said all of this to the back of his head and meets Sam’s mercurial eyes across the room.

“Sammy.” Don’t leave me. You’re so smart. How could you. I’m so proud. All of the words fit but his brain can’t decide what to say so they get stuck in his throat and strangle him instead. The room is heavy with all of the things they’re not saying to each other. 

Sam shifts from one foot to the other, cocking his hips just slightly, but doesnt move and doesnt say anything else. He’s waiting. Dean’s mind is racing so fast it feels blank.

He steps forward once, twice, until he’s solidly in Sam’s personal space. “Sammy” his closed off throat strangles out again. Sam waits.

Telegraphing each move, and moving slow enough that his beautiful, brilliant, cruel little brother could step away, or turn his head, Dean places one hand on Sam’s hip and the other curls around the back of his neck to tug him close. Dean closes his eyes and presses forward, opening his mouth over his little brother’s for the first time.

It’s everything that he’s dreamt it would be. Sam kisses like he spars, thoughtful and patient but with everything he has. Dean can taste the love and lust in Sam’s mouth. Clothes are yanked open and thrown to the far corners of the tiny room they share. The only sounds are heavy, panting breaths and the particular sound of skin on skin. 

They fall back onto the threadbare mattress, Sam on his back and Dean on top of him, between his still skinny, coltish legs. They stop and stare at each other. Dean’s throat is closing again with all of the things that he will never be able to say to the beautiful creature beneath him. He wants to get his dick inside Sammy as much as he wants to pull all of Sammy inside himself, tuck him behind his ribcage and keep him safe and with him every second of every day for the rest of forever.

Instead, he reaches up into his pillowcase for the pilfered, nearly empty tube of lube he keeps there. He quirks an eyebrow down at Sammy, asking without words if he’s still on board. Sam laughs up at him silently and rocks his hips so that his dick can rub on Dean’s stomach, leaving a slimy trail that is at once gross and so arousing that he can’t think straight.

Prep is brief but thorough, a mantra of ‘dont hurt Sammy’ running through Dean’s otherwise blissfully empty head and then he’s rocking his hips forward and pressing his cock into heaven. It’s so smooth, seamless, painless for both of them that Dean wildly thinks that Sam was made for him, him and no one else. He wants to go slow, he opens his eyes to communicate as much, but the pink cheeked smoulder he sees in front of him is enough to drive the ability out of him. He fucks his hips forward almost viciously, shoving Sam’s body up their bed until his head bumps the heaboard. They both wince and pause as Dean tugs Sam back down onto his cock and keeps a firm hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

Sam gives as good as he gets, tiny little punched out ‘ah, ah, ah’ noises and the way his long legs curl around Dean’s hips practically spurring him far surpassing whatever forgotten moment Dean had classified in his head as “hottest thing ever” previously. He starts chanting Sam’s name aloud with each thrust of his hips because it’s the only thing in his head. He reaches down with hand not anchored on Sam’s shoulder to wrap around Sam’s red, drooling cock but Sam shakes his head.

“I can come without. Just keep fucking me.” And, wow, okay new hottest thing ever, even as Dean’s hindbrain realizes that Sam has come from something, SOMEONE, in his ass before and that makes him feral. He snarls and fucks harder, using every bit of muscle he’s gained from years of physical labor and training. Sam comes just seconds later, spurting all over his stomach, head thrown back and elegant neck exposed, ass squeezing Dean’s pistoning cock like a vice tight enough that it almost hurts.

For the first time since he’d come home, Sam opens his eyes and looks at him, really looks him in the eye and says his name “Dean” and that’s all it takes, Dean is coming like he’d never come before in his life. He can feel it squishing and leaking out of Sam’s ass around his cock that can’t, won’t, isn’t softening just yet.

Cleanup is quiet, subdued and they’re still not speaking. Dean uses a wet washcloth to softly wipe Sam’s thighs, ass and stomach clean before he curls around him, still naked, in their too-small bed. Dean decides to try to talk one more time.

“Sammy” he wispers but it’s too late. Sam is snoring soflty. Dean pulls him close and closes his eyes.

When he wakes up he’s cold and alone in bed and Sam’s things are conspicous in their absence in thier room. He panics, throwing himself out of the bed and into enough clothes to be decent if he has to leave the house. He didn’t need to worry, Sam was sitting on the ratty couch with a book. His bags are neatly packed by the front door.

“Dad called, he should be here within the hour.”

Dean doesn’t cry, he doesn’t beg. He says nothing, again, but nods as he heads back into his room, just his now. His moments with Sammy are numbered.

There’s a lot of yelling. Some screaming. More hurtful words and direct verbal barbs than Dean could keep up with. He stepped outside after the first 15 minutes, his tender heart unable to bear it. Eventually he hears his father’s final words, “If you walk out that door, don’t bother coming back” and it’s the worst thing he could have said. Dean hears the door open and shut behind him from where he sits on the tiny porch.

“C-” His throat closes again, he roughly clears it and tries again, “Can I give you a ride to the bus station?” This time, it’s Sammy who can’t speak as they load his things into the car and head down the road to the Greyhound station. Dean’s had time to think it over and plan for the moment, as much as you can plan for the other half of your soul walking away from you with no intention of them coming back. He has every cent that he’s managed to save and or squirrel away split into two bundles. The first one, the small bills, he shoves into Sam’s hands. “For food, books, whatever the fuck you want.” He refuses to take no for an answer. The other bundle, the big bills, nearing seven hundred as much as he could figure, he shoves into a pair of socks in Sam’s bag.

They hug. Dean wants to kiss him, afterall, no one here knows they’re brothers, but Sam turns his head and Dean bites the inside of his lip until he bleeds. He watches his reason for getting up in the morning get on a bus to take him far, far away. He sits on the hood of the impala in silence, watching the road until long after the bus’ tail lights have faded to dark.

ONE DAY LATER

Dean couldn’t stand being near their father. The person who condemned him to this half-life without all the best parts of him. He went back to the apartment to gather his things in silence, John watching him the whole time through whiskey-blurred eyes. Dean caught his eye just once, as he turned to pull the door closed behind him, but he felt nothing. He wasn’t sure he could feel anything anymore. 

He drove aimlessly for a while, unable to go back to his father and unknowing if he was welcome to follow his brother. Eventually he ended up in a field, under the night sky. He climbed onto the hood to look up at the stars but the silence of it all was hurting his ears so he got back into the car to turn on the radio before he headed back out to stargaze. 

_ We try to talk it over _

_ But the words come out too rough _

_ I know you were tryin' _

_ To give me the best of your love _

ONE MONTH LATER

Sam hated California. He had worked so hard for all of this, school and a break from hunting and some stability and he hated it. He had even less of a life than he’d had growing up and moving every couple months. He woke up in his dorm, didn’t speak with his roommate, went to class, went to his job at the bookstore, went home and studied. Even on the weekends, he went to work, and then back home. It was like he couldn’t enjoy anything that he’d thought he’d always wanted.

He’d never felt so alone. Sam thought he was a lonely kid, too shy and awkward to make friends in the new school of the moment. But he’d always had Dean. When the bus pulled away from the station a month ago, Sam had broken down. Sobbing until his throat hurt, until his muscles were locked up around his bag. His fingers sweaty around the roll of bills Dean had shoved into his hand, the last thing that was Dean’s and now his. He’d very nearly asked the driver to stop, let him off.

But his father’s words came back at him, and the fact that Dean hadn’t been in the room to defend him, or to soften the blow. 

He wasn’t sure if he was welcome, let alone wanted.

_ Beautiful faces _

_ Loud empty places _

_ Look at the way that we live _

_ Wastin' our time _

SIX MONTHS LATER

Sam was crossing campus like a zombie, not enough sleep or food or basic human interaction to make him anything else. There was a sound at the edge of his periphery, a sound that he couldn’t forget if he’d tried and his head snapped up, his eyes already scanning the area. 

There, directly in front of him a black 1967 Chevy Impala was pulling into a parking space at the edge of the lot.

Sam lost feeling in his fingers as the driver got out of the car and turned, scanning the area, coming to a stop when their eyes met across the dozen yards between them. Sam felt his breaths grow shallow, unable to pull enough air into his lungs as the driver stepped away from the car and began to walk towards him. 

Sam’s books and bag fell from his nerveless fingers, scattering on the ground. Dean looked haggard, just as rough as he felt.

“Hiya Sammy.” Dean smiled and it was like the first time Sam felt the sun in ages; he felt warm. When Dean pulled him into a hug, he felt whole.


End file.
